


Take the King

by yolkipalki



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Collars, Dom Mindset, Dom/sub, Gentle Dom, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MY SOUL DID WHILE WRITING THIS, Not a Smut Writer, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Perspective Swap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rewrite, Sleepy Cuddles, Sorry Not Sorry, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, postcoidal cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolkipalki/pseuds/yolkipalki
Summary: The strategy was simple enough. Find the line. Skirt the line. Change tack. Take the King.AKA Jaskier decides to explore the limits of the infamous Witcher stamina. A reimagination of Over and Over, part of the Puppy series by Jadelyn.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 156





	Take the King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadelyn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Over and Over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689636) by [Jadelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadelyn/pseuds/Jadelyn). 



Take The King

or Over and Over (Again)

by Lemon, inspired by the works of Jadelyn

**。。。oOo 。。。**

“You know, darling. Something occurred to me, recently.” Jaskier purred, deft fingers pulling the tongue of the collar through the buckle around the witcher’s throat before giving it a little tug. He leaned back in the chair and drank in the sight before him. 

_ And Lilit’s tits, what a sight it was.  _

Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, Witcher of Kaer Morhen... _ his _ witcher. A man built like a god kneeling at his feet. Jaskier could scarcely believe it. Geralt could break him in half with nary a thought and yet here he was, sitting pretty on his knees with a collar about his throat. 

It was enough to send his heart fluttering against his ribs like a moth to a candle flame, heat dripping down to pool in his belly like melting wax. 

It seemed that Geralt had only then noticed Jaskier staring at him with raw hunger.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier suppressed a laugh, feeling his lips twist into a wicked, little grin. 

"Yes. I realized that I've quite thoroughly tested your ability to hold back, to refrain from coming - but I haven't tried going the other way. We've never explored the limits of that famed witcher stamina." He hung onto the last two words with a theatrical pause and waited, running the pads of his forefinger and his thumb together as he pressed his hands to his lips. 

Well, that seemed to get Geralt’s attention. Jaskier couldn’t help the boyish smile that broke, running his teeth over his bottom lip as he watched the golden eyes track over his face, cheeks flush with anticipation. 

“Tonight you’re going to show me just how many times you can come for me.” His voice was barely more than a whisper but he knew Geralt heard...he felt him whimper. Something was tantalizing about the knowledge that his witcher was the only one who could hear him whisper filthy little encouragements. Jaskier ran his finger along his bottom lip before uncrossing his legs and leaning in to hook it through the loop on the collar. He felt Geralt inhale sharply as he yanked on the metal loop, pulling Geralt into a messy kiss. He nipped, quick and hard at Geralt’s lip, words dancing across the witcher’s open mouth. “And then...we’ll keep going.” He felt Geralt gasp and tremble under his words and laughed mischievously. “Oh, pet, I simply cannot wait to watch you come apart for me…” He slid his hand from the collar and up Geralt’s exposed throat. “Unravelling…” He cupped his palm under Geralt’s jaw and pulled him back to look at him, drinking in the sight greedily. “Overwhelmed by pleasure.”

Geralt made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl. It reminded Jaskier of a trapped animal. 

“Sounds like I’m not the only one looking forward to it.  _ Hmm _ ?” Jaskier hummed mockingly as he took the vial of oil from the table beside him. He uncorked it with a flourish, taking his time, savoring the feeling of Geralt’s hungry eyes on him. There was no question of who held the power here in these games, but the look in Geralt’s eyes made him feel hunted and something about it melted his very insides.

“Hand,” Jaskier demanded, sounding as aloof and disinterested as possible. He watched idly as Geralt reached forward obediently with his palm up. The sight made him weak.

He leaned back, letting the velvet of the chair swallow his shoulders. 

“Let’s start simple, shall we?” Jaskier mused. “Hand on your cock. Now, put on a show for me, puppy.” 

And Geralt obeyed. 

He bit his lip, leaning back and without lifting his head, lifted his eyes to meet Jaskier. His wide eyes glowed canary yellow in the light of the hearth. He squirmed, shifted, his knees slowly spreading apart as if it were an offering. Jaskier fought the urge to tackle him and roll around on the floor like the feral, little thing that he was. Instead, he leaned forward, fingers twitching against the velvet arms of the chair. 

“Good boy.” He whispered, breathily and watched as Geralt’s hips jerked upwards at his words, fucking into the tight channel of his calloused hand. “Oh,” he mewled, “You love to be good for me, don’t you, pup?”

“Yes...Yes, sir.” The words were nothing more than a hoarse groan. His lips parted, mouth hung open, and oh, how Jaskier longed to fill it.

He smiled and hummed, shifting in the chair at the very thought of it. “Tell me, darling puppy: how many? How many times have you come in one night before?"

“F-five.” Geralt stammered, his hips and his hands never slowing their steady rhythm. Jaskier smiled and hummed in acknowledgment, twisting his fingers in an indication for Geralt to say more. “It…” He swallowed and huffed, furrowing his brow. “It was...Eskel and I had just passed the Trials, we were to set out on the Path soon. We...we weren’t students anymore and if...if we decided to spend the whole night together then no one would say anything and...and we did.” 

_ Gods above.  _ Jaskier fought the instinct to grab hold of his aching cock at the thought, as it was he made no effort to hide the moan that hummed in his chest. He nearly lost it altogether at Geralt as his pace became more frantic at the very sound of Jaskier. The witcher nearly stopped himself but impressively maintained his pace, breathing heavily, eyes closed and brow furrowed in an attempt to control himself. He was on the very edge and Jaskier watched him falter and stumble along that line, trying not to fall off before he was told to. 

_ Find the line. Skirt the line. _

“Did you fuck him?” Jaskier’s voice was low and heady but he could barely hear it over the hymn of choked-off moans and heavy breaths that filled his ears.

_ Change tack. _

“Y-yes.” 

He leaned forward. “Come inside of him?” 

“Yes.” Geralt’s hand sped up at the memory of it.

“And did you let him fuck you?” 

“Yes.” He whined through gritted teeth, thrusting up into his hand faster and faster. 

“Did you let him come inside of you?” Jaskier whispered, slowly as if to contrast the desperate pace that Geralt had set. 

“Yes.” Geralt cried out, “Fuck Jask, please…” He begged.

“Oh, sweet thing, not yet.” Jaskier cooed. “How many times did you come that way?” 

“T-twice.” 

“Did he put that lovely, little cock in his mouth? Let you come inside his mouth?” 

“Fu-...yes.” He was panting now, hoarse in his throat. Jaskier watched the muscles twitch tight beneath his skin as he fought his body for control. 

“That’s four.” Jaskier counted on his fingers casually as he leaned forward, tongue teasing across his swollen, red lips. “And the fifth?” He raised his eyebrows, batting his brilliant eyes at Geralt as if he were completely unaware of the witcher’s current state.

“Hi-his hand...in-inside of me. All of it.” Geralt struggled for the words, choking on them as he thrust into his hand mindlessly. “Like...like you did, that once. He wanted to...to try so I...fuck...I let-Jask,  _ please- _ ” 

_ Take the king. _

“Come for me.”

Geralt threw his head back, and with a short, choked cry he painted his chest with spend. Jaskier made a needy, satisfying sound as he watched Geralt writhe and moan through his orgasm but wasted no time in clicking his tongue disapprovingly and watching as Geralt’s head lifted to stare at Jaskier, eyes wide with worry. 

“Did I tell you to stop?” Jaskier stated. Geralt stuttered, biting his lip, a look of shame washing over his face. It both warmed and twisted in Jaskier’s gut and he leaned forward, running a finger along Geralt’s jaw, his stern face softening. “If I’m not touching you then I expect you to touch yourself. Not one moment without, do you understand, darling?” 

Geralt shivered and Jaskier fought the urge to cry out at the sight of it. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy.” Jaskier glowed, reaching forward he slid his finger down Geralt’s bottom lip, over his chin, and to the ring on the collar, pulling the witcher to kneel between his legs. Leaning back he encouraged him up and forward, guiding Geralt to kneel over his lip, knees resting on the arms of the chair.

His fingers danced up and down the taut muscle of Geralt’s thighs, resisting the urge to dig his nails in and pull him close. 

“It’s a good thing I managed to procure us this room, isn’t it?” He smirked. “When I saw this chair all I could think of was you, just...like...this. I fear if I hadn’t I would’ve died of a broken heart…” He coaxed Geralt forward until the witcher was close enough to shudder at the heat of Jaskier’s breath on his cock. “I would’ve lived the rest of my life, imagining you…” He leaned forward, flicking the very tip of his tongue up the underside of Geralt’s cock, lapping up the fresh precome that welled at the slit. “...just like this.” His eyes rolled back as he bathed in the sudden gasp and the involuntary thrust of Geralt’s hips as a new surge of precome dribbled from the tip. 

Geralt cursed under his breath. 

“Oh,” Jaskier cooed once more, laughing as his hands came up to steady Geralt’s hips, to hold him in place. “Brace your hands on the chair and hold still - no thrusting. I want to bask in this...to watch as you weep for me.” 

Geralt whined, suppressing a shudder as he gripped the back of the chair as if letting go would send him hurtling towards his death. 

“Words, puppy,” Jaskier whispered tenderly as his lips danced over the head of Geralt’s cock. He lifted his eyes, finger resting along the underside of the head, swirling about idly in his precome. Geralt exhaled sharply as if he had been struck in the chest. 

“Y-yes.” He muttered through gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.” He added. 

Jaskier understood that Geralt struggled for his words at the best of times. And of course, forcing him to use them, if only in the most basic of terms, was part of the game. But it was so much more than that too. If he was going to push Geralt to the edge of that line, if he was going to revel in it, if he was going to let go, he needed to know that he hadn’t pushed too hard, too fast...too far. 

Despite what the witcher had tried so desperately to make everyone else believe, he was tender and delicate. Jaskier held that truth to be sacred. He wanted nothing more than to take him apart and put him back together again, as much as he hated to force the words from Geralt’s throat when he was at his least articulate, Jaskier needed it. Needed to know he could undo Geralt without breaking him.

“Good boy.” Jaskier praised, his thumbs rubbing deep, soothing circles over the crest of Geralt’s hips.

He reveled in the feeling of the tight muscle that twitched and spasmed beneath his hands, watching Geralt struggle to stay upright as if the witcher would topple forward at any moment. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he flicked his tongue lazily along the cock that slid across his wet lips, like a child licking the sugar from the top of a pastry. Geralt whimpered deliciously, seemingly unable to stop. 

Jaskier could see the shame that twisted Geralt’s features as his eyes met the bard’s and fluttered shut. Jaskier slid his lips over the witcher’s cock and messily slurped it into the heat of his mouth just past the head, just enough to send Geralt reeling, his eyes shooting open, transfixed on the sight below him. 

Jaskier was practically glowing, dark lashes fluttering over his stained-glass eyes. He looked up innocently as if reverently seated before an altar, quietly praying. If there was one thing Jaskier knew how to do, it was to perform, and perform he did. Letting out little moans, just enough to tremble through the cock in his mouth. His eyes lazed up to fix Geralt with a look of wonder as he slid his lips further down the witcher’s cock. Little by little. 

Geralt cursed breathily. 

Sometimes, Geralt’s first orgasm took the edge off, prolonged the play before the second one hit him, other times it did nothing but make every nerve in his body vibrate with presence, hyper-aware of everything around him. Jaskier could tell already it was the latter and gods was he pleased. He nearly let out a self-satisfied giggle as he pulled off of Geralt’s cock, slipping down further in the chair to pay more attention to the rest of the veritable feast before him. He suckled, and played, flicking his fingers, pulling, and twisting until he heard the wood of the chair begin to creak beneath Geralt’s grip. With a messy slurp he sucked one, then both, of Geralt’s balls into his mouth, hands reaching in front of him to grip at Geralt’s hips from behind.

It was a balance, a delicate game of sensing how close Geralt was to the edge, how much he anticipated the next stroke, suckle, or pull, and changing everything at just the right moment to send him gasping for breath and shuddering under Jaskier’s administrations. 

Jaskier supposed the many years of navigating courts in his youth, learning to read people and nudge them in the direction he needed them to go, and endless hours of strategy games had provided him a certain edge or maybe it had just given him a thirst for the delicate manipulation and control that their games demanded. It was a simple game really, and he had plenty of practice. He knew he was good, that confidence made him infinitely better. 

The strategy was simple enough. 

_ Find the line. Skirt the line. Change tack. Take the King _ .

His thoughts mused over the song of ecstasy that ripped itself from Geralt’s throat, rough and broken. He pulled off, grinning smugly and satisfied at the man before him. 

“Gods, how I love those sounds you make for me, pet.” The last word was almost lost as he ran his tongue from Geralt’s taint up to the head of his cock, flicking it with a sharp curl and sending it bouncing. Geralt gasped right on cue. “I want more...sing to me.” He purred, slipping his lips over the head and burying Geralt’s cock down to the hilt in the tight heat of his throat. 

Geralt caught a scream in his throat, choking it off as he trembled, eyes rolling aimlessly. Jaskier moaned deep on his cock, feeling his lips tingle with the vibrations as he pulled off and slid down once more. 

Geralt cursed clumsily as if he had forgotten how to breathe entirely and Jaskier whimpered at the sight of his unraveling. 

“Fu-.. oh...fuck, Jask. Gods…” He rasped, suddenly his lungs burst into action and he struggled to growl between frantic breaths. “Jask...Jaskier...sir, please...I’m...I need…” Jaskier found the huge, rough hand delicate tremble down to weave fingers through his hair as if the act would ground him in reality, to help him regain the control he was so quickly losing. 

The power that Jaskier had, the control, it was dizzying. It was a constant balance of pushing just far enough to skirt the line between pleasure and pain, the concern for Geralt always there, fidgeting in the back of his mind and never fully drowned out by the thrill of control. Watching Geralt unravel under his fingertips, inside his mouth...it was nothing short of a religious experience. If there was a god or goddess in all of the thirteen heavens or hells then Jaskier had found it and it was kneeling at his feet.

This thing that they had was sacred. The power he had been given. The ability to take someone so hardened by the harshness and cruelty of the world, so grizzled and scarred and melt him like hot butter, sliding across a pan. That Geralt would let himself be pulled apart and made anew by Jaskier was more beautiful than any song he had heard, any flower he had smelled, or sunrise he had witnessed. It was sweet innocence itself and it was pure in ways that he couldn’t articulate. A rather odd experience for him. Every sound that fell from their lips was a hymn of praise. 

  
  


“Please, please, oh fuck, Jask..” The chorus of whimpering pleas made Jaskier shudder. 

  
  


He didn’t stop though, he could push his witcher further if only just a little and as Geralt’s muscles strung taut under his skin, threatening to snap his bones, the bard pulled over, darkness swirling about in his glimmering eyes. 

“Come.” He commanded low and quiet and it was all he could do to greedily pull Geralt into his mouth before the witcher obeyed, choking on a cry. Jaskier fought the tears that sprang to his eyes as he squirmed, his cock throbbing as he greedily gulped all that Geralt would give him desperate and feverish as if he were a man dying of thirst.

He nearly lost himself in the clumsy bucking of Geralt’s hips and the spasms of his body. For a moment Jaskier worried that he would pass out right on top of him, splayed naked over the chair, as the sensations quickly became too much for him to handle. He watched carefully, calculated, and coy as he pushed the man who knelt on the arms of the chair. 

“Oh dear,” Jaskier huffed disappointedly, “Only two, and you’re already so worked up, so overwhelmed.”

He could instantly see the panic in Geralt’s eyes. “I can keep going.” He blurted out, shame blooming on his cheeks “I’m sorr-” 

Jaskier hushed him, cooing as he ran his hand up Geralt’s shoulder to cup the side of his face. 

“Shh, there puppy, I know you can.” To see his witcher turn into the warmth of his palm nearly made him cry in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. “Hush now, pet. I’m not cross at you, I want to see you like this. Overwrought and undone for me. You’re being so good for me.” 

Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut as the iron grip of his muscles slackened enough to let him breathe easily again. Jaskier could see him struggling to pull the words from himself, with all the subtly of a man ripping out his own teeth. 

“Good?” Geralt finally muttered, as if the word hurt coming out of his mouth. 

“Oh, love...yes.” Jaskier shifted upwards, placing one hand on either side of Geralt’s face and pulling him closer. “My sweet thing, you’re doing so well. You’re such a good boy.” 

Jaskier bit his lip at the shiver that ran through Geralt and the hum that purred in his chest. If he didn’t change tack he was going to come himself. He shifted, pulling out the vial of oil once more and quirking his lips at the look of surprise that struck Geralt as he ran the oil over his palm, slicking his fingers. He could feel the tension in Geralt pull taut like a sail in the wind before going lax, intentional. He was yielding. He traced his fingers down Geralt’s taint before letting the pad of his middle finger circle lazily around the tight ring of muscle. Geralt nearly folded in half, groaning as Jaskier pressed, slow and precise, sliding his finger in.

“Sweet hell, I love how you come to heel, puppy.” He murmured breathily. “How you take me as if you were made for me. Crafted by gods themselves, just...for... me.” He lingered on the words, drinking in the sight of Geralt crooning. “Such a magnificent temple this is, isn’t that right?” 

“Y-yes.” Geralt choked, sucking in shallow gasps that made his head swim. Jaskier withdrew a finger, watching with curious awe at every twitch and groan before sliding back in, all the way to his palm. Geralt arched his spine, crooning once more, low and needy and perfect. 

“Gods you’re beautiful,” Jaskier said, enraptured, his hand wandering up Geralt’s chest, fingers raking across skin and muscle just enough to elicit a shudder before he wove his fingers through the ring of the collar. All it took was a touch, enough for Geralt to be made aware he was holding the collar, to follow his hand down into a kiss. 

Gods, he was skirting the edge himself, he turned his head, letting Geralt’s lips dance across the skin of his cheek, his fingers still woven about the ring on the collar as if it were a lifeline. He crooked his fingers forwards, and in a circle, writhing as Geralt jolted caught between the fingers inside of him and the ones at his throat. 

_ Find the line. Skirt the line. _

Geralt whispered his name like a prayer and Jaskier thought he would break. 

Jaskier pressed again, swirling his finger in a smooth circle, flicking gently. “Yes?” His voice was light and airy as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He gazed up at Geralt with feigned innocence as he stroked once, twice more, pulling his finger down until only the tip remained inside. He folded at Geralt’s heady moans as he slipped his index finger in. He wasted no time, sliding them up to the crook of nerves. 

“What was that, puppy?” He lifted his head casually, fingers toying at the inside of his witcher and at the ring that hung from his throat. “Did you say something?” Slowly his movements he waited until the very moment that Geralt drew breath to speak, then with a dip and a curve he ran his fingers forward. The words, whatever they had been, came out as a jumbled, helpless cry, and Jaskier couldn’t help but giggle. “Use your words.” He teased, leaning back carelessly into the velvet, eyes pulling apart every twitch of muscle in Geralt’s face, finding the line. That was the game, after all, find the line, push him to it, topple over at just the right moment.

“Jas, please.” Geralt growled, hips jerking clumsily forward as he fucked himself on the bard’s fingers. Jaskier felt his heart pound erratically as if it would break out of his ribcage, nearly keeping time with the desperate pace that Geralt fucked into his own hand. “Please...please, oh god, I...I please I need...I need.” 

Geralt opened his eyes and Jaskier pulled his fingers out completely. Just long enough for the confusion on Geralt’s face to register before he slid three into the tip of his palm. 

_ Find the line. Skirt the line. Change tack. _

“More?” He whined sweetly, and Geralt keened. 

“Yes.” His witcher sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut in a pathetic attempt at regaining control. His thumb pressing altogether too hard on the tip of his cock. “Ple-please. Jask. Can...can I, fuck I’m so...I’m so close I need it. Let me...please need to come.” His voice stuttered and cracked as if it would break apart. 

Jaskier could get drunk off the feral look in Geralt’s eyes alone. He held the ring fast, leaning his head against his shoulder in a boyish smirk, clicking his tongue. 

“Oh, darling. You’re so pretty when you beg.” His voice was honey. He jerked his head forward, pressing his cheek to Geralt’s and letting his voice drop, low and rough. “Go on, then, pet.” 

_ Find the line. Skirt the line. Change tack. Take the King _ .

Instantly, as if in time to the music. A broken, punched out stutter tore through Geralt as he thrust his hips forward, curling into his shoulders. Jaskier bit his lip, moving his hips back and forth like gentle waves as he watched his witcher spill over his fingers and felt the muscle spasming tight across the fingers of his left hand. He could sense Geralt’s impending collapse, releasing his grip on the ring of the collar and sliding his fingers around the back of Geralt’s neck and into his hair, pulling him close, grounding him to earth.

“Hmm.” Jaskier sang. “That’s it, good boy. Just like that.” Geralt’s breathing was erratic and desperate as though he had been drowning in the depths of the sea, not moments before. “Don’t stop. Yes, just like that.” Jaskier pushed ever-so-slightly further, guiding Geralt’s hand back around his cock and watching his face contort as his nerves fought over pleasure and pain. 

“Oh,” Jaskier whined. “Oh, my good boy. It’s a lot, isn’t it?” 

Geralt nodded, face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. “Y-yes. So…” He took a stuttering gasp and Jaskier watched carefully, sensing he was approaching that line once more. “P-please... Jask...I-” 

“Ah, ah.” Jaskier chided. “Not yet, puppy. I’m not done with you yet.” 

“No, no….” Geralt blinked hazily at him as if his eyes were struggling to focus and Jaskier perked. For a moment he feared he may have pushed too far, worried Geralt would lose consciousness right then and there. “O-oil.” He choked. 

Oh, thank the gods. 

Jaskier smiled serenely. “Of course, love.” His hand slipped from where it wove into the back of Geralt’s hair reaching across his chest to pluck the vial from the table, the fingers of his left hand still knuckle deep inside his witcher. He shimmied up just enough to uncork the vial with his teeth without running the risk of dumping it all over his chest. He tipped the vial in his hand letting it drizzle down Geralt’s hand and down his prick. Geralt’s eyes fluttered and he sighed with relief. “Thank you.” He managed to mutter, his body twitching at every raw nerve. 

“Thank you…?” Jaskier asked, lifting his eyebrows in a stern look. He sat still, waiting for the moment when Geralt opened his mouth to speak before he twisted his fingers forward and watched Geralt whimper as he mindlessly ground his hips into Jaskier’s left hand. 

“Th-thank you, sir.” 

“Better,” Jaskier smirked. He brought his hand up once more to hold Geralt’s face, thumb brushing back and forth over his cheekbone like the gentle drip of water from a spigot. His voice was warm and honeyed, nothing but the swelling affection that bloomed in his chest and stung his eyes. “Thank you.” Geralt nearly stopped, looking up in confusion. “Thank you for asking for what you needed. That was very good of you.” 

He watched the praise melt the tension in Geralt’s joints, igniting a fervor in him. He rocked against Jaskier’s hand, eyes shut, mouth open. Jaskier smiled, biting his lip and running his right hand through Geralt’s hair before tugging. 

“Go on, then. Fuck yourself on my fingers, puppy.” Geralt moved with desperation as if he would die an agonizing death rather suddenly if he slowed his frantic pace. Jaskier twisted his fingers with every thrust of Geralt’s hips, running them over the crook of nerves and sending spasms through his witcher. He watched for a time, losing himself to the moment until his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. 

“Look at me, love.” He said, firm but soft, and watched as Geralt pried his eyes open and complied. The moment they locked eyes Jaskier could feel it, the hunger that had tugged at him all night was too much. “Good boy. I love seeing you...so worked up, tangled into endless knots for me, so far down...you can barely think, can you?  _ Tsk _ .  _ Aw _ , no,  _ shh _ . That’s okay. You don’t need to, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you. Just do as you’re told like a good pup. You will, won’t you?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” Geralt moaned deep, hazed as if he were drunk off euphoria and the heady smell of sex. He sped up, frantically fucking against Jaskier’s chest, sliding down onto his fingers. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Jaskier smiled, practically giddy at the sight. 

Geralt managed a rough nod, never slowing. “Yes, sir.” 

“Tsk. So quickly.” Jaskier was genuinely impressed. “You must be so...very...sensitive now. Does it hurt?” 

“ _ Hng _ , yes.” Geralt cried as he turned his face into Jaskier’s open palm, the sloppy kisses sending shivers up the bard’s arm. He was practically purring, writhing slowly under the feverish movements of his witcher. “

“Mmm. You’re going to come again anyway though. Aren’t you?” He bit his lip, his breathing shallow and quickening. “Because I want you to. And you want to be good, don’t you? Good for me, my sweet puppy.”

“Yes. Want...want to be...to - good for you. Oh fuck, please, Jask...please-” With reverence, Jaskier watched his witcher struggle, his desire fighting his body at every breath and thrust.

_ Skirt the line.  _

“Oh, you are, pet. So good for me. So very good. And you’re going to come so pretty for me.” Geralt opened his mouth to say something but Jaskier beat him to it. “Now.”

_ Take the king. _

Geralt stilled, shaking in utter silence until finally, he choked on a gasp. Only a few meager spurts dribbled down his fingers and Jaskier watched him writhe with each throb. 

Jaskier smiled, smug and warm like a cat in the sunshine. “We’ve run you dry, haven’t we?” He glowed as Geralt reluctantly continued to stroke his cock without prompting.

“Seems so.” Geralt slurred and Jaskier could see him wavering. He wrapped his arms around Geralt, pulling his witcher close, his forehead resting against Jaskier’s shoulder. Slowly he pulled the fingers of his left hand from inside, shushing the protests it elicited, he wiped the oil from his hand and moved it to rest in the small of Geralt’s back. His right-hand carding gently and rhythmically through Geralt’s hair.

“Are you alright, love?” His voice was barely audible, as he tried his best to pull Geralt from the haze without overwhelming him. 

“Hmm.” Geralt sighed, using what felt like more strength than he had to rouse his faculties enough for a meager. “Ye ‘m good.” 

“Good boy.” Jaskier cooed. “You’re doing so well, darling.” He felt his words run shivers down his witcher’s spine. There was something that resonated between them, sending sparks from the tips of his fingers through Geralt and back again, something he couldn’t quantify or explain and in a truly rare moment for him, Jaskier’s mind was still and clear, and nothing existed outside that moment but Geralt, curled into his arms. A wave of affection crashed over him rather unexpectedly and he blinked away the sting, terrified that tears would spring to his eyes. He meant to sound calm but his voice came out stern and serious. “Geralt.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Look at me, love.” He tugged gently on Geralt’s hair, prompting him to turn his face upwards. With some effort, his witcher lifted his eyes. “You’ve done so well for me tonight, darling. But I...I need to check in with you before we continue. Do you need to stop?” He tried his best to bite the swelling feeling in his chest, waiting. 

Finally, Geralt shook his head. But Jaskier was wary, he knew Geralt better than anyone and knew that he had a horrid tendency to put himself in danger needlessly for others. He’d be damned if he let these games turn into something so harmful.

“Are you sure?” His eyes tracing over every movement of Geralt’s face as he slid his hand over the crest of his witcher’s hip. “You’re not too sensitive?” He questioned, wrapping his fingers around him and working him slow and steady. Geralt wriggled, muscles tensing and twitching. Jaskier measured the haze in his expression carefully, ever-concerned with pushing him too far to bring him back. “-’ss a lot but not...not too much.” Geralt slurred. 

Jaskier watched him, still deliberating, still worrying. He chewed his lip as he swiped his thumb over the head of Geralt’s cock, and moaned into the shudder that reverberated through him. He wanted to stop there, he worried that Geralt needed him to stop, but he was weak and he needed it. Now. 

“In that case, I’m not done with you yet.” He bit his lip, mewling at the frantic shallow breaths Geralt took and the way his eyes fluttered across Jaskier’s face, trying to read his intentions.

It took some care to get Geralt from the chair to the bed, leaning on Jaskier for support as his legs threatened to collapse underneath him like a foal. Jaskier would never tell him what it did to him, to know that he was the thing that unmade his god of a man. That he alone had caused the legs to tremble beneath this warrior crafted from iron and poison. The sweet little sounds of desperation that Geralt sang as Jaskier lined himself up, Geralt writhed face down into the sheets, fists balling in the blankets as he crooned. The feeling of Geralt squirming as Jaskier’s cock filled him, hard and tight and wet. Fuck, it was perfection. Geralt turned his head into the fabric and moaned hungrily and Jaskier tapped him on the thigh as if reprimanding a naughty child. 

Geralt nearly slid his knees beneath his chest as he rocked back to swallow Jaskier’s cock inside of him, a filthy, hollow moan escaping his swollen lips.

Jaskier ran a hand, gentle and firm, up Geralt’s side in an effort to ground his heaving chest. “Better, pet. Very good.” He soothed. “You know I want to hear every little sound you make for me.” 

It was too much for words and Jaskier could see that as Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, nodding frantically. 

Jaskier rocked back, slowly, deliberately, withdrawing until only the head of his cock remained inside. Then he waited. 

_ Find the line.  _

It only took a sliver of a moment before Geralt was chasing after him with his hips, whining like an animal.

“Hmm. Oh, I’m sorry. Did you say something, pup?” Jaskier asked as if he hadn’t been paying attention to his witcher at all, his eyelashes fluttering with feigned innocence. It had the intended effect and Geralt shivered beneath him as if his words were made of ice and flame. 

“Pl...please.” He finally managed, the word was forced from his mouth, punched out as if painful. “Jask, please….f-fuck me, oh gods, please...Jask-...” He shuddered, the words falling from his mouth like broken sobs. 

“Well.” Jaskier sang slowly, drawing out the word as if he just wasn’t sure what he was going to do with that information. 

_ Skirt the line.  _

He waited, holding his breath, heart pounding frantically with anticipation until he heard Geralt draw a shaky breath to speak. With all his might he thrust forward, slamming himself down to the hilt, the wet slap of skin against slick, dripping skin was filthy and it filled the room. 

The sound that tore its way through Geralt’s throat was closer to a scream than anything Jaskier had pulled from him before, a hallowed howl like a feral creature. The bard let out a huffed groan. He anchored himself to every sensation around him other than the throbbing of his cock in a rather pitiable attempt to keep himself from coming undone right there and then. He took a breath, steadying himself, and feeling the sweat dance down the curve of his spine. 

_ Change tack.  _

He leaned forward, pressing his back into Geralt and gracefully sliding his arm between the witcher and the blankets. Taking his witcher’s cock in his hand and holding it there, he whispered into the small of Geralt’s back. 

“Come whenever you’d like, darling.” And then he twisted his wrist. 

_ Take the king.  _

It took no more than a few tugs of his hand and one more dizzying thrust before Geralt seized beneath him, spasming under him, the heat of his skin slurping violently at Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier wrapped his fingers around the head, feeling the dry orgasm overtake Geralt in a rather pathetic attempt to paint the sheets beneath him, his body simply had nothing left to give. 

“Oh, so worked up, you pretty thing.” Jaskier turned his lips into Geralt’s shoulder blade, his lips feather-light across the sweaty skin. He unwrapped his fingers from Geralt and set a steady pace, a tempo he could maintain, hopefully, for at least a few minutes. He curled his hands into the small of Geralt’s hips, adjusting until he could feel Geralt tighten around him. 

“Right there, hmm?” He sped up just enough to skirt along his own line, dangerously close, drunk on the thrill of it. 

“I wonder, puppy.” He sang as if musing about whether or not it would rain tomorrow. It took more than a little effort, not to pant out Geralt’s name like a chant, a song of praise, and unravel, but he steeled himself. “I wonder if I could take you  _ here _ ,” He slid his hand up, tracing scars and the contours of Geralt’s back. “Take you to this place, living endlessly on the very precipice, wringing one climax…” He thrust slow and deep, feeling himself fold and moan. “...after another until you are unmade beneath me.” 

There it is. 

Geralt met Jaskier’s thrusts desperate, gasping for air, eyes fluttering like a swooning maiden. Jaskier felt as though his bones were melting, heat humming in his belly and sparking down to his fingertips. “O-one more, pup.” He sang. “Can you do that for me, love? Come one more time for me. Give me one more.” 

Geralt tensed and shrunk at the words. “I - I...don’t thi-think I-” He shied away, turning into the blanket, still mindlessly rocking back onto the cock, hilt-deep inside of him.

Skirt the line. Focus, fuck...don’t come. Not yet. 

“Yes, you can.” Jaskier cooed. “For me, pet. Just once more. I need to feel you come on my cock, love. If you can be a good boy.” His eyes fluttered as he felt Geralt tighten at the words. “A...a good boy and do that for me, I’ll come inside of you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes…fuck, Jask...please…” The noise Geralt made was animalistic and it nearly shoved Jaskier mercilessly over the edge. Jaskier opened his mouth to reply, something clever he was sure but lost his words entirely as Geralt stiffened beneath him, crying out his name like a plea to the gods themselves, soft and broken as he came. He spasmed violently on Jaskier’s cock enough to send sparks through the bard’s vision and haze his already dizzied mind. 

The sounds Geralt made as he came, unwoven under Jaskier, was the greatest song he had ever written.

“Ye-” Jaskier hissed, his head falling back, fingernails digging into Geralt as if to anchor him from falling to his death. The heat of Geralt’s body milking his climax from him hungrily. 

He felt Geralt still beneath him, the muscle beneath him tensing and twitching at every spurt of hot spend that filled his witcher. Jaskier rambled filthy, nonsensical praises feeling the tension of Geralt’s body begin to ease bit by bit. Geralt whined drunkenly as Jaskier pulled out, his eyes fluttering as Jaskier guided him slowly and gently to lie flat on his back. Jaskier didn’t expect him to speak, to acknowledge him in any way. 

He slid from the bed, eyes never roaming from his witcher as he gathered a damp cloth and the salve. He fought the urge to laugh out hysterically as Geralt thrust mindlessly into the warm cloth that cleaned him in gentle, long swoops. He swatted at him and the witcher huffed, indignant and drunkenly. He smiled sweetly down at the man in his bed, the bloom of emotion hitting him like a tidal wave, no stopping it now. He smiled, every blink was drawn out, hesitating in anticipation of the sliver of a moment where his eyes would close and he would lose sight of this picture, afraid when he opened them that Geralt would be gone, no longer wrapped firmly in his arms.

He sniffed, fat tears leaking from his eyes. He chuckled at himself, banking on Geralt being entirely too out of it to notice him crying over the naked god tangled in his sheets, moaning breathily. Gods, he didn’t deserve this, hadn’t done anything noteworthy in his life to be blessed with a god to tremble beneath him. After Geralt was clean and dry, Jaskier shimmied down, resting his hips against the small of Geralt’s back and cradling him, carding his hand through his witcher’s hair and humming some nondescript lullaby, just letting time pass as the candles slowly melted across the pewter plates they sat upon until they snuffed themselves out. After some time he felt Geralt stir, his head turning beneath Jaskier’s cheek. 

“Back with me, sweetheart?” His voice low and warm, dripping with affection and shimmering with pride. He held his breath, waiting to gauge Geralt’s state of mind by his response and the sound of his voice.

“Yeah.” Geralt muttered. He shifted, with some effort, turning over to look up at Jaskier, eyes scanning his face in the darkness. It was too dark for Jaskier to discern his expression, but his eyes, nearly reflective in the darkness, glowed wide and bright for him. 

Jaskier traced his fingers along the edge of the collar until they came to rest on the tongue of it. “Ready for it to come off?” His voice was neutral and soft, careful not to unintentionally influence Geralt. 

The witcher took a moment to think before Jaskier felt him nod against his stomach. He reached down and easily undid the collar, setting it on the bedside table. He guided Geralt to lay beside him, cradled in his arms, head curled against his chest as if Jaskier could shield him from all the horrors of this world, and could keep him safe with his embrace alone. 

“Good?” Geralt hummed dreamily into the darkness. 

“So very good, love.” Jaskier rested his lips against the crook of Geralt’s neck, closing his eyes and savoring the moment. And that was where he stayed, as he felt Geralt drift to sleep, safe and sound in his arms, remade and brought together again, warm and drowsy and perfect. 

**。。。oOo 。。。**

**Author's Note:**

> I have had lengthy discussions about the difference in mindset and perspective between dom/sub dynamic types and what that can look like, how that can feel. Reading the original Puppy series by Jadelyn was rather eye-opening for me to be perfectly honest. it was an insight into a perspective that is alien to me in many ways. I had wanted to do a rewrite/perspective swap for quite some time now and the idea gripped me yesterday and I couldn't put it down. 
> 
> Here it is. I hope you enjoy it and if you did please go back and read the original series it is *chef kiss*. 
> 
> PS I love you, Jade.


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